Well, I was wrong, and the first floor unit is indeed not culpable, because the CBC blaster has been identified. He is their upstairs neighbor, from the 5th floor specifically, and after successfully arts-and-culturing me out of bed at 7:30 this morning, he revealed himself.
I would like to clarify that the radio started off at an acceptable volume, so I was prepared to let it slide. When I was suddenly able to understand complete sentences, though, I knew it was time to make this stop. I am not noise averse, believe me. My tolerance is a lot higher than most people’s, thanks to some of my past experiences living next to junkies, wife beaters, and people who only owned one actual CD (Mariah Carey’s Christmas album). I like the CBC. I believe people should be free to listen to their radio on their balcony or in their yards. But I also believe that the whole neighborhood needn’t be forced to listen along, especially before 10am on a weekend… every weekend.
“Fuck this, this ends now,” I muttered, once again angrily throwing on clothes. This time, by the time I got to the park, the volume was still ridiculous, and there was only one person out and about other than me… A man in his 60s (70s?) on his 5th floor balcony.
“Is that your radio?” I hollered up at him. He pantomimed “I can’t hear you”. No joke, he continued to lazily cup his ears like a petulant child for the next 30 seconds of our interaction (during which he most likely missed my polite opening statement). I read it both as legitimate (seriously you guys, the radio was really fucking loud, even five floors down) and as a “fuck you”, which is bizarre, given the circumstance. Anyways, it’s when I started exaggeratedly counting what floor he was on and mentioned “police” for the first time that he went to turn it off.
I believe what followed once the radio was off was something along the lines of “You need to keep your radio down, or the next time I am going to call the police. That isn’t a threat, it is a promise. You blast this every weekend at six, seven in the morning” (at this point he shrugged and pulled a face that clearly said “so?”) “and I hear it as clearly as though I’m playing it in my own house. Please, I’m asking you politely to be respectful of your neighbors.”
Let it be noted that he didn’t say a damn thing this entire time. I suppose yelling down from one’s balcony is undignified. In any case, I am hoping that this situation has been resolved. I realize now why I wasn’t able to identify him… his balcony is almost completely obscured by trees. I’m sure that when he saw me disappear under the canopy and across the street, he was probably surprised.
On a side note, is this what we have to look forward to? Like, badass boomers that blast talk radio, refuse to clean up their townhouses, and won’t be told what to do, maaaan? The role reversal and its absurdity wasn’t lost on me.
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rock'n'roll, country, punk & metal.
bands that combine all four successfully.
design, graphic & interior.
the intersection of philosophy & sociology.
ampersands.
andrew wk.
emergent gameplay, of the videogaming variety.
cursing.
beards.
beer.
bbq.
cjlo.
deep fried everything.
americana.
making lists, including this one of my life's ambitions, and these of things on my mind at the time.
feedback: @angelidotca or ask me anything you'd like here.
i took a trip! read about it here.
evidence of my lame yuppie side on my (gasp!) house blog here.
